


love is thicker than blood

by dainochild



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Incest, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Victim Blaming, as in the victim blaming himself, because apparently i looked at these books and decided 'needs more pain'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 04:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4652103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dainochild/pseuds/dainochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started when Uncle decided Laurent was old enough for hunting trips and ended with a soft, “You’re getting too old for those trips, nephew.” </p>
<p>And like that, Laurent's left alone again, trying to navigate emotions he never would have had if he'd never been ensnared in his uncle's trap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love is thicker than blood

It started when Uncle decided he was old enough for hunting trips and ended with a soft, “You’re getting too old for those trips, nephew.”

It feels like losing everything all over again.

Of course Laurent feels more than familial obligation and the brand of affection that comes with that for his uncle. The last close family member, the last to understand the truth of who Auguste and Father had been. The first to make him believe life could go on without Auguste and Father. The first to take his body and heart.

How can he not feel devastated?

But Laurent had noticed his uncle’s eyes wandering. Many times, he’d considered it part of the act. It wasn’t as though they could be openly affectionate anywhere but those hunting trips. Uncle understood decorum, or rather, uncle understood there was only so much the court would let them get away with without revolting and Laurent understood too. The thought of incest still made his stomach lurch with disgust as they did that very thing. How could he resent anyone who hadn’t _seen_ how compatible they were for feeling the same disgust?

Yet he did.

Perhaps they would have had more time. Perhaps his uncle’s eyes never would have wandered to begin with.

Instead, Laurent is stuck with bothersome and consuming emotions he can’t control. To even gaze upon his uncle inflicts the most rage-inducing nostalgia.

He replays the first time they made love in his mind over and over.

Laurent remembers soft touches, appreciative comments, the tickle of his uncle’s beard as he kissed every inch of him.

Laurent remembers choking, coughing, his uncle’s fingers in his hair and whispers of encouragement that made him ignore the burning pain in his throat and the tears in his eyes.

Laurent remembers the pleasant sensations of his uncle’s long, thick fingers in and around his most intimate places and the rush that came with every remark of how beautiful he, Laurent, looked like this.

Laurent remembers swallowing screams of pain because he was grateful for his uncle’s love in every form it took.

_You’re such a good boy_ , his uncle said after, stroking Laurent’s hips.

The physical pain was easily tolerated with each doting gift his uncle gave. Not only fine jewels Laurent never would have thought to buy himself, but the words. The conversations they had, about all manner of things, during which his uncle would pause to remark how intelligent Laurent was, how perceptive Laurent was, how advanced for his age Laurent was, how tempting Laurent was, how agonising it was to have love so misplaced it turned what should have been simply familial into more.

“Perhaps they should say love is thicker than blood,” Laurent remarked.

His uncle found the statement delightful.

But apparently even love couldn’t withstand time ravaging Laurent’s body, twisting him into a monster. Many still find him attractive, more so perhaps, but ‘many’ are not the one and only he wants. The one whose eyes wander to younger boys until Laurent wants to scream, look at me, you made me think of love to begin with, you promised me love, you vowed me love, you owe me love, you took everything I had and more, you made me this way, **_look at me_**.

In his worst moments of fear, Laurent swears he feels large hands with thick fingers. On his thighs, trying to pry them open. On his arse, pulling him where he doesn’t want to go. On his head, curled in his hair, forcing him to stay down and suck harder. On his hips, gently stroking, as he remembers wondering why he wanted to cry.

Sometimes he remembers liking it.

Sometimes he remembers hating it.

As time passes and he grows older, even less desirable, and watches the new boys coming, Laurent feels nothing but hatred.

And yet he knows he must be different. He isn’t some pet plucked from market; they are family. On some level, his uncle still had to love him, didn’t he? Perhaps Laurent’s body no longer matched his uncle’s fetish, but that did not cancel out love.

Yet, Laurent feels himself hate his uncle more and more. Or is it love more and more, with distance ravaging his heart until he can no longer process emotions correctly?

Laurent thinks of the boys who have come and gone, in years past, when he was more concerned with impressing Auguste. Each day he feels as though he’s realising with more certainty each time what had actually happened. He had walked to a trap and allowed himself to be ensnared for the simplest of bait.

And there was no escape. Because he kept thinking, _Uncle wouldn’t do that to me. Uncle loves me. I’m too old, but he loves me_ until his mind is screaming.

Laurent’s mind hurts too often to make any sense of anything. He tries to sweep emotions away, but only seems to feel them stronger and stronger until it’s a blur. It’s all a blur. The memories have blurred against his will until Laurent feels vaguely ill whenever any reminder is provoked. It’s rarely enough to break his carefully cultivated composure, but the only emotions that can be successfully hidden are those he knows to expect. And somehow, despite years of awareness of his uncle’s tastes, he’d never expected to be one of the boys devoured whole and tossed aside.

It’s different, Laurent thinks constantly, specifically because they are family. Uncle _has_ to love him. Uncle _does_ love him. He’s just too old. That’s all that changed.

When his uncle starts parading a pretty new pet around court, Laurent isn't certain who he wants to kill more, his uncle or the pampered prostitute who stole him. So he drinks too much too quickly and hides in his rooms, convincing himself his uncle didn’t notice. That it didn’t matter how much he wanted to destroy every single fucking thing if his uncle thinks he’s apathetic. As bored of the old man as the old man is of the old boy.

Laurent lies in bed, alcohol buzzing through his system, making his body tingle in a familiar way that feels like anticipation. He imagines the hands on his body yet again and whispers, "I'm too old. Stop it, Uncle."

Yet the hands won't leave.

"You didn't love me," Laurent says, louder. "All you saw was the prettiest hole in the kingdom to fuck."

Yet the hands won't leave.

"I only want what you made me want," Laurent says. "All I wanted was my family."

Yet the hands won't leave.

"I'm glad to be too old," Laurent half-lies. "I want nothing from you but my throne and my kingdom."

Yet the hands won't leave.

The hands won't ever leave, Laurent fears. They are deeply ingrained on his very soul.

Who was he before becoming Uncle's fuck toy? Auguste's younger brother. King Aleron's other son. Nothing that matters with the two of them dead.

He would be something other than Uncle's rejected old fuck-toy if they were alive.

How Laurent despises Akielos and all its citizens. Especially Damianos, who made all this happen when he tore Auguste in half, leaving Laurent alone with his uncle. Two brothers for the price of one sword swing.

What Laurent would do for revenge.

Everything blurs except that hatred.

Laurent wishes he remembered every detail clearly, but hours of searching his memories have only produced contrary and contradictory recollections until he doubts himself. He’s taken to avoiding such reverie to keep one thought loud and clear above the noise; He raped me and I want revenge. When he allows it, it breaks down with fury into; I trusted him, I feel for his traps, and he used me like the lowliest of toys before tossing me unceremoniously aside for something prettier, newer, less damning. And when he least wants it, his mind is twisted uselessly around words of a love with no boundaries.

Love is thicker than blood.

But knowledge sharpens the mind into a weapon and oh, what Laurent knows now. He feels Uncle’s gaze upon him each day and knows it must have made his mind sharper because the reality is inconceivable. If he hasn’t learned, he’s just another in a line of stupid boys, no matter what else there is between them to enrich the masquerade of love lost.

So Laurent has his clothes tied tight, until he feels captive in those rather than the heart he never signed up for, and faces everyday scheming. Not necessarily to a specific end, but scheming all the same, because that is what smart boys who have learned their lessons do.

Each day, Laurent wishes his uncle would invite him hunting again, just the two of them, like old times. He’s pictured the scene so many times it feels almost real. He imagines himself refusing, dryly cutting his uncle to shreds with a few well-chosen words. The words always vary depending on what it is he remembers most. The look of abject heartbreak on his uncle’s face never varies. Defeat, it equals. Victory, it equals. Laurent craves it enough to tolerate looking at his uncle’s face, memorising any changes, in preparation of a moment that will never come.

And yet, if it were to truly come, if he were truly to be invited hunting again, Laurent knows what he would really do. He would become overwhelmed with the wrong memories, the wrong feelings, and he would make the ultimate mistake.

He would go.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This probably isn't the ideal first fic for a new fandom, given the subject matter. I wrote it after finishing Prince's Gambit in a bit of a haze. As a victim of CSA and incest, I alternated between relating to Laurent a lot and not at all -- which I thought was really exciting! It's hard to find good portrayals at all, forget ones that feel real and individual. So I was happy when I came back to this and realised it wasn't just me vicariously venting. And so I thought, why not post it. Especially after reading a certain book 3 extract.
> 
> Abusers of The Regent's nature (particularly paedophiles) have this certain knack for making their victims believe they care about us. It's pretty evident in Nicaise and (particularly) Aimeric, isn't it? And I think there's enough canon evidence to support that Laurent would've been the same way. The thing about incest victims, though, is we're told from all corners that our abuser(s) really and truly love us because we're family. The value placed on familial relationships makes it extremely difficult to hate them, whether you want to or not. And it's very easy to mentally twist it into this grandiose thing to try and rationalise why a family member would ever betray another at such a fundamental and sickening level. I think The Regent would be aware of this and would've specifically catered to it. But I also think Laurent hates him even more than he realises.
> 
> Anyway! I hope you found this interesting. Or not too far off the mark, at any rate.


End file.
